Hell Yes.

http://www.cnn.com/2006/HEALTH/11/30/cosmetic.surgery.reut/index.html

I've known this for a while but I got to tell you that it is nice to have it confirmed by science...well sort of - some people in 42 countries will have to do.

Empty

A chance.

A beginning.

An end.

Lonliness and fear.

A person.

A window.

An end.

Nothing.

Something.

Regrets and isolation.

An opportunity.

A beginning.

Another ending.

The end.

Today is the birthday of C.S. Lewis

A celebration for sure.

C.S. Lewis said, "You can't get a cup of tea big enough or a book long enough to suit me."

Amen man, amen!

I didn't want to but I had to...

comment on something. I heard on the radio today, cause the radio is the source of all good things, that Pamela Anderson and Kid Rock are filing for divorce after only four months. I didn't want to comment on this on my blog but I just cannot help it. It calls me. What I could absolutely not bring myself to do was put a picture of Pamela or Kid (I don't actually know them but I am comfortable enough in my skin to call them by their first names) on the blog. That I just cannot do. So four months huh? Well they gave it a shot. What? That is the commitment example going out there today? Insane. Insanity. This is not a new and revolutionary commentary I know, it is just mine. As a single gal this does cut to the bone. As someone diving into the deep end to try to figure out why she is single. One who is exploring how it all works and what she can do to make it work, this hurts. What work went on to make the marriage last? I just cannot see any from this perspective. I do not know them but nothing can take place, get done, redone, fixed, helped and recovered after only four months. How about taking four months to think about why you got married in the first place? Or take four months to think about why you should stay married? What a waste and quite frankly a slap in the face to me. An odd commentary now I think. Yet still mine. It is easy to find "love". To locate lust. For me at least. What is hard or complex for me is sustaining it. Making it work. But I want to. And when one hears of such non chalance, such ambivilance, such lack of effort...well it just hurts, insults and truly angers. I don't care if this is irrational or crazed on my part. I am angry. At myself? Yes of course. Is it anybody's fault? No. Just angry. I'm just saying...

Who the hell are these people?

A good friend of mine just asked me, "Who are these freaks that live in this country with us? It's a mystery"..."Who do you mean?", I replied. "These people lining up at 3am to buy shit, the mall parking lots are packed already all across the U.S.!" She came back at me with. Good question. Who are these people? "Must buy stuff!" seems to be the mantra of individuals I cannot comprehend nor desire to know.
Stuff goes on sale at Wal-mart and there is a rushing of the doors at all the stores nationwide that equal or surpass that of any Beatles concert from the 60s. What the hell is going on? No really what the hell is going on? I haven't a clue. Someone help me to get it, to understand it. I hate to be a bleeding heart you know what but I guess one cannot help who one is but how can so many out there have so little and we as a nation must have, feel obligated almost to have all this stuff? Stuff we already have, don't need, just must have! Seconds and thirds in adundance.
What did I do for Thanksgiving? Oh thank you for asking. I hung out with my mom while she made pies, watched movies, read, drank some beer with my brother and then had a nice, actually very delicious turkey dinner with my family. What am I doing today? I am at work. Ssssshhhh....my boss is not in yet...I am not shopping. I am not being shuffled back and forth between men's wear and watches in search of that deal on stuff I must have even though I already have three of them somewhere at home. I am not getting upset that I was not able to locate the 20" plasma television advertised at under 100 bucks at Wal-mart...nope. Anyway...I'm just saying...

Hon-

-estly.

I have to be honest here.

I am not interested in spending time with you,

in taking a moment to get to know you,

I can't see it happening, it is not in the cards.

There is nothing wrong with you.

I mean that I can see or predict.

It's just that you're not on my list.

I do have time, but not time for you.

You say you don't understand.

It is not clear to you why I say such things when we don't even know each other.

Exactly my point.

I'd rather sleep or watch a movie.

Read a book or a cereal box. Just be with me.

Or eat dinner with my family.

I am sorry if this seems harsh.

Honesty tends to be that way.

It is not personal so please don't take it as such.

I just don't need another person in my life now.

I wish you well, I hope good comes to you.

I am sure there are others out there.

Others who need a new person, want to see you.

Go search for them, go call and you will find.

Honestly that is what I suggest.

Think nothing bad of you or your ideas.

It is me and it is you.

I am not interested in an us...honestly.

I'm 2 for 2

Since I've been here I've purchased two scratch lottery thingie ma bobs. One I won 17 bucks and the other I won 20 bucks. My luck is definitely turning for the better. Reaffirming, not validating, that I indeed made the keerect choice to move here. I looked up the word luck/lucky in the dictionary...

luck·y (lŭk'ē) adj., -i·er, -i·est.
Having or attended by good luck.
Occurring by chance; fortuitous.
Believed to bring good luck: hoped to draw a lucky number.

Which then led me to the synonym, happy...

hap·py (hăp'ē) adj., -pi·er, -pi·est.
Characterized by good luck; fortunate.
Enjoying, showing, or marked by pleasure, satisfaction, or joy.
Being especially well-adapted; felicitous: a happy turn of phrase.
Cheerful; willing: happy to help.
Characterized by a spontaneous or obsessive inclination to use something. Often used in combination: trigger-happy.
Enthusiastic about or involved with to a disproportionate degree. Often used in combination: money-happy; clothes-happy.

It is the little things.
Yep, 2 for 2.

Thankful

This is sort of tough. I am broken. Not sad, well a little bit. I am broken. Cracked if you will. It hit me last night as I lay in bed. The wind blowing hard up against the house, trees bending over, rain drilling the ground as if being paid...it hit me as it all hit the earth, I am broken. I'm here to get fixed. I need some putty. I know probably my friends are tired of hearing this story. I am sort of exhausted of telling it, feeling it. Nowhere near done I think. I prayed to the God Ganeesh last night to give me strength and courage to plunge down that dark hole that is now before me. I found the hole last night. I am at the edge and I am scared. I want to fall, to jump even. I am still standing on the edge. I can see into the hole. It is dark and I know I will be alone in it. There is light around me, warming me, reminding me that if I stay here things will be OK. Ugh. Boring. OK is what I've been living for so long now. Walking around the hole, even stepping over the hole. Ok you big baby, you talker. Time to jump. So why am I thankful today, the day before we as a nation celebrate turkey and yams? A day where football overrides the remberance that we ate with people and them gave them a gift of disease? ouch. A day where eating, drinking and passing out on the couch is all acceptable, a pass for one day? I am thankful for these thoughts I have. I am thankful that I am broken and finally I see it. I am thankful that it happened here, happened now. Some people go their whole lives and never once see that they are broken. Look at themselves and see who they are for real. Most people I meet just don't do it. I am thankful this day before one of my favorite days of the year because if something is broken it means it can be fixed.

Today is her birthday!

Today is a very special day.
A day to celebrate with no delay.

Today is the day someone special was born.
A day to jump for joy and hope no ligaments are torn.

Today is when Heather C came into this world.
A day things changed and even swirled.

Today I am so thankful for her arrival, her birth,
A day of greatfulness, hope and joy all over the earth.

Happy Bornday Miss Heather,
I desire it to be the best, the brightest and as magical as a feather.

I do comedy not poems. What did you expect?

A pajama party on the shore

This weekend I attended an all woman PJ party in Cape Charles Virginia. It was a celebration for a young lady turning 39. We had martinis, we wore Pjs, there were balloons, cake, red wine, slippers and presents. We were in a large, I mean over 5,000 square feet, fully furnished house located in a gated community with a pool and a river located in the back. A house that I shall, so I right now can safely predict, will never own or for that matter ever desire to own. I interacted with all the attendees, exchanged witty bantor on clams and children, drank a lot of wine, a few martinis, and even gave a grand toast and a wee bit of a roast of the guest of honor. I have to say it went over quite nicely. The gals listened, laughed and even in a few places clapped. It felt magical. The energy was brilliant and I have to admit I was alive for the first time in a long time. It truly hit me and hit me hard how much I love, and maybe...wait for it...need to perform. I've had twinges of this emotion before while and after performing yet not like this, not as powerful and as real, solid as if the the emotion was an actual person standing next to me, touching my arm and breathing my air. I am content today. A little melancholy even. That feels appropriate. Direction accurate. Floating today in this new space, a limbo even, feels ok and seems to be nudging me toward a sort of connected to the bigger picture realization. I am writing, I am performing, I am so happy to be here on the shore. I cannot imagine being anywhere else right now and I've decided not to spend any time doing such imagination. I am going there as all the kids say today. Downward and spiraling at times, yes; scared often oh sure. Energized and hopeful, hell yes. And through all of the emotions, the feelings, the events, I find myself easily falling asleep each night and you better believe it, laughing all the way.

Lost Friends

I've been thinking a lot lately about past friendships. Friends I am no longer in touch with or heard from in some time. Some I can't remember their names and some I am sure I shall never forget. A physical pang in my heart, in my blood I do feel when I think of one or two specfically. One from my time in Annapolis Maryland and one from way back, further back in the recess of my life, when I was but a little gal in North Carolina. It is not everyday by any means or even what you would call often that these two souls enter my mind. Yet when they do the memory of them, my time with them, what we did and what we shared does penetrate my brain, dribbles slowly downward to my open and then sad heart. The memory encases my beating 39 year old heart, then sending a telegram to my eyes, my tear ducts to tell them it is ok to release the floodgates. For I miss these two women. I truly do.

And it is ok that they are no longer in my life, logically I know this to be true. We were together for one reason and one reason only; just because. The time we had together was what we both needed at that time. That time, that need is now over and filled. Yet my heart is still empty in those two spots. Two spots that will never be filled I know as a fact not to be reckoned with. And I am not sure that I want the spots, as much pain as they can provide, to be filled. I need them there as a reminder. A reminder that starts out sad. Yet luckily, as the memory of them rounds the corner to the finish line, as it always does, then allowing me to move on to the next moment in my life, I am left with happiness, gratefulness and a soothing appreciation. Some peopel go their whole lives and never experience the friendship, the support and laughter as I had with those two women. You are out there and you know who you are. We are no longer speaking, nor listening. I only hope you know that I do so love you and wish you happiness and hope always. You are lost to me my friends. I just only hope you are not lost.

I know Marilyn, I know.

I feel it too.

I've been a little bit, a tad crazy with the pictures in my posts. I enjoy it so that is why. That and the use of commas. A true crutch. Ok, some words. Can I just have words and no pictures? Am I capable? Well so far I have just words and I am feeling ok. My blood pressure is not rising or lowering. No shallow breathing.
How about a story? That way it is words but I am not focusing on words. I love asking questions to inadament objects, like blogs...you always get the answer you want or no answer at all. That works as well.
Ok, so last night I was out. Out at a bar. Having a beer and playing darts with my brother and his friend. They decided to do shots of balsamic vinegar. A sailing thing they said. Any sailors ever hear of this act? Do it? They did 3 shots each. I did not join in. They then did what on the shore is known as the "crab dance." My conclusion? My brother and his friend should stick with real liqour for shots and I perhaps I should stick with pictures? I'm just saying...

Ok, damn it, I couldn't help it. No words.

The vinegar stands alone.

May September Romance

I'm for them.

It's in the eyes

He is with someone yet he is looking at me.

I mean looking at me. One knows when someone is really looking at you, into you. A connection wanting to be made. I feel his eyes on me, throwing out a line, looking for a bite.

You are with someone not looking and then you see. You see someone there before you that was not there before, could not imagine you would find. Yet I am here and you are there, with her. You are not looking at her, you are seeing me. Where do we go from here? What happens next? Your eyes are in my dreams, there when I wake at dawn, open, searching, asking. I have no answer. I am not turning away. I am looking too.

Go Girls!

Poem: "Little Prayer in November"

by Lee Rudolph

Little Prayer in November

That I am alive, I thank no one in particular;

and yet am thankful, mostly,

although I frame no prayer but this one:

Creator Spirit, as you have come,come again,

even in November,on these short days, fogbound.

Thinking of my poper joaners today a lot and missing them even more!

Gumby says,

"sometimes you got to bend to get by"

I am thankful for...

This is what it feels like

Impossible at times, yet I can see it.
Beautiful yet painful.
The struggle, the search, the quest.
It seems attainable but just damn hard.

Exactly.

I found this little diddy today. How does someone that does not know me seem to know me?
Check out this interesting site, http://www.toothpastefordinner.com/
A nice diversion from the day job. Thank you.

Scaling back...

As of late I've decided to become a minimalist. Well not so much I have decided as so much my debt reconsilidation counselor decided. Bless his little mid western accent and just out of puberty self.

A short poem for a Monday

I am frightened.

Not of the dark or a spider,

Nor of lightening or of being hit by a hanglider.

I am scared.

Not of hanging a shelf,

Nor of thunder or that I have no wealth.

I am worried.

Not of dinner alone,

Nor of things that go bump in the night or being turned into a clone.

I am fearful.

Not that I will ever lack family or friends,

Nor of not having a partner, a mate, and the end.

I am hopeful.

Not that you will understand,

Nor that this makes sense or you can comprehend.

I am hopeful.

Not for a husband or a white knight,

Nor to be saved or relieved of my fright.

I am scared.

Not of what you think,

Nor for how this poem will end or if frogs can blink.

I am scared.

That is enough and for now what I have to say,

To spout out and to display.

Conflicted

I love it here.
I hate not being there.
Conflicted.

Come to Virginia NOW!

If you happen to be in the hood next week, please come by and laugh with me, next to me, at me, just laugh. I will be sharing my views on my life, your life, life in general through my odd sense of humor on Thursday, November 16th in lovely downtwon Cheriton, Virginia. Hope to see you there. If you don't come I will be a little bit upset. Nothing a few Samuel Adams can't heal. I will be fine...

Playing Alone Part One

Friday. I wake this morning to a bright and clear day. The leaves are still a brilliant red, many still clutching the branches of the tree from which they were born. The yellow shimmers off of their counterparts already fallen to the ground. I am alone in this large warm bed. I slept in dreams I can now not recall specifically. Craddled by pillows not arms. I am separate from the rest of the world, the human population resembling a foreign land. Content mostly. The lonliness more of a nagging feeling in my stomach as if yesterday I forgot to do something; buy milk, mail a letter, drop off a borrowed item to a neighbor.
Coffee is my partner, we review and linger over the newspaper of the day. I enter the shower listening to NPR. I talk to the radio half expecting a direct response, a question back to me requesting knowledge, information.
Driving to work, still in my world alone, I see others all around me too drifting.

Check it out! I started a school. I've been busy since I moved to the shore. I was going to start the school here in Virginia but decided not to. A fresh start is what I thought. So I choose Florida. Why the hell not? In Tallahassee none the less. That is a friend of mine's favorite town in Florida. If you know of any young kids, preferably cute boys, that are ready to learn it up, send em south. Be sure to include a check in the back pack made out to Michelle Maclay. Happy education to all. It is amazing what can be done when you put your mind to it, have some free time and no rent to pay, or food to buy, no car payment to take care of because you live with your parents! sort of life. I'm just saying...

...so I grabbed his ass. He turned around and said to me, "what the hell are you doing?", to which I replied, "testing before I buy, naturally." I don't know what the hell is happening to me. Is anything happening to me? By me? Thursdays are hard. I'm just saying...

I look younger than I am.

I act younger than my years.

I feel immature most of the time.

I should, ahem, be further along in life than I am.

I feel as if I am 14 years old often. In spirit and looks.

So when men ask me out I am sure to ask them first before I answer..."So, you into little girls are you?"

I'm just saying.

I get it. You just needed someone to care. I could have saved you if you had wanted me to, wanted to be saved. After 14 years I now get it. All you wanted was for someone to care. I did. That is it and now we are done. I get it. So busy on the outside, so lonely on the inside. I get it. A light is on. A clearing taken place. I've emerged from the forest. Clouds vanished. Sun shining brightly, blinding. Got it. Got it. Go ahead and Burn this. Burn them. DBT is over, finally.

A good friend sent me this quote this week. Yes I am just full out plagiarizing. I liked it and thought I would pass it on...

"I would like to beg you dear sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you, because you would not be able to give them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer" - Rainer Maria-Rilke.

I know, silly, childish, just a quote...yet...

"are you married?" Why is that one of the first two questions always asked when you first meet someone? That and "What do you do?" To that one I always respond, "About what?" "What do I do for a living?, for fun?, for my spirit?, I need more specifics!" Ah! Ah! I don't seem to have an answer to the one about marriage. I stutter, I stammer...I make a joke, usually. Last night I was out at a bar and I met a couple. The man's first words to me, after Hi, were, "are you married?" I am not. I am ok with that. Or at least I thought I was. Maybe I am not? I do want to be married but it just has not happened yet...I have a good life, I do. I am missing something. I am missing that part of my life. That piece of the pie...that piece about 6 inchs long, or 7? Ha! See how the telling of the joke works? No, really, I am tired of being asked this question over and over again as an opening to a relationship. But now I think I am more tired of my reaction to the question. Why am I so irritated by words, a simple, unassuming question? Why do I want to yell at the top of my lungs at the messenger of these words and kick them in the neck? I am now starting to think this is my quest. Not to get married, because let's face it folks, that part is the easy part...but the quest is why if I am happy and why if I do know I will find that relationship, that partnership some day and I do think this...why does it bother me to be asked this? To be thrown up against this measurement as if being judged? I am judging myself. I am on the quest people. Putting my panama jack hat on, lacing up my hiking boots, sporting my khaki shorts and heading out. Stay tuned cause it is gonna be a bumpy, exhilirating, eventful, fun, challenging, sad, hopeful, brilliant and a whole bunch of other adjectives ride. The goal? To determine why this makes me want to scream. Once I know that I believe that I can move forward and get that piece of pie. I'm just saying...

Scanning through radio stations this morning I heard something interesting...to me. He was a preacher man I do believe. All I heard before the scan took the random station away from me was, "Do you know that you can teach more with your life than with your lips?" Well, ah really? Perhaps this gentlemans not met the right lips yet? I'm just saying...

I saw a little girl the other day oh around five years old. She was with her mommy, I guess, who knows. She had on a t-shirt that said, "I LOVE MOMMY!" Ugh. I guess that is cute but first of all you know she did not pick it out herself and second of all, who cares? You have to love her! I like the cute saying t-shirts just as much as the next hip gal, but why not SAY something on it? If and when I have children and by have I do mean HAVE, as in own children, I just hope I will have the girls wear shirts that make a statement, say something. for example...

1. [On the front] Oh, you want to date me? Interesting because you are not exhibiting behaviour that leads me to believe that is true.
Then on the back it could say something like...
Call me!

2. [On the front] You want to be friends? No thanks.
I don't need anymore friends. In fact I could go the rest of my life and not meet anymore friends. I don't need a friend. I need someone to have sex with.
Then on the back it could say something like...
So...do you wanna?

If you're going to say something then say it.

Peace.

These days I am so so busy. So busy. I get up in the morning, I drink coffee, I drive to work, I work, I get off of work, I drive back home, I have one, two or 12 beers, I wash my face, brush my teeth, I turn out the light, I sleep. Next day comes, I get up, I drink coffee, drive to work, I work, I get off of work, I drive back home, I have one, two or 12 beers, I wash my face, brush my teeth, I turn out the light, I sleep. So busy am I...

Thought for the day. Or the question of the day...
"If someone say a retailer gives you three canadian coins in change, unintentionally I assume, do you then pass those coins onto someone else, anyone, knowingly? Or do you throw them into your silver change jar, forget about them, pull them out later and pass them on unknowingly?" I'm just asking...

An ending –
As I drove out the mile long driveway that I had driven on for the last year I now, suddenly, almost instantly as if a blindfold ripped from my eyes, heard and knew the answer to it all. I got it. It was said to me many times by several people throughout my life. My mom told me when I was first learning to tie my shoes. A friend had uttered it in a strained breath as we stretched to reach the finish line of our first half marathon. I spat it many times in the early cold thick with fog mornings from my warm bed. And now I spoke it, whispered it through my rose colored lipstick covered lips to the car, to the corn fields flashing by me, and most importantly to myself, with conviction. “Keep going. Keep going.”

I like this picture cause it looks like I have cleavage.
Also I remember that for these headshots she put so much make up on me that when I looked in the mirror I looked just like a man trying to look like a woman. If only I could sing! Happy Cold Folks.

A thought for today:
It is not "moving back home with your parents" if where your parents now live is not the same place in which they lived when you were growing up and suppose to be there.

Another thought I had right after this one...
Wait a minute, who gives a fuck? I don't. And I'm the only opinion that matters.

When I tell people that I have moved home to live with my parents for an undetermined amount of time, they respond by asking, "Why?" To which I say, "Ah, why not!" Do they charge rent where you live? Not where I live. Do you have a chef that lives in your house? I do. When was the last time you purchased laundry detergent, wine, soap, olives? I can't recall when last I did. They are a lovely older couple that happen to share some DNA with me and that I find charming and we laugh a lot. This is not for everyone and there are moments that try their best to break me of this decision. Moments pass, scotch is bought, jokes are told, hugs are given every morning, love and support is given unconditionally, and a dog sleeps with you and protects you through the night.

They say you can't choose your family but that you can choose who you live with. For me I choose family and that choice is just fine with me.

That's the thought for the day from the new come here gal Michelle. On The Shore... just settling, just breathing, and just living.

Fall is really here. I love it. The red and yellow leaves swirl all around like snow as I drive to Cape Charles. I can smell the season. Clean air, crisp breezes, and sun rays dance across the open fields that envelope my journey to a new day. Change is on me. It is Friday and all is well here for me on the Shore. I'm reminded today for some reason of the time when I was a little girl living in North Carolina. I remember loving this time of year from a very young age. It was just my mom and I. Each morning in the fall she would drop me off at preschool. Smooch on me, squeeze me a little too tight, and then tromp off just across the street to her job. A social worker was her choosen profession. Her days filled with supporting, conjoling, pushing and filling out endless mounds of paper work. My days filled with running, chasing, screaming, napping, painting and stories. I loved preschool for the stories. Each day just before nap time, ah nap time. If only we knew then what we know now...that naps are good and should always be taken when offered. As we would spread our Road Runner sheets out on the uniform sky blue inch thick mats, throw the time worn down to flat pillows, my youthful teacher would start story time. I remember one story in particular. I think now as I've had time, experience and just a dash of perspective to think on it, I remember this one story, the retelling of it by myself mostly, because it was the vehicle in which I realized the power of words.

At the end of each day of school and work, my mom would scoop me up amongst all the other kids and take me to Morrison's Cafeteria for dinner. The name has stuck with me for no apparent reason since it does not factor into the story but each time I tell this tale I feel compelled to say the name and say it with emphasis. Perhaps more time, experience and perspective will season a reason on that one. I cherish the days we had at Morrison's. Now I look back on it and recall that it was cheap, we could eat a lot of food for not a lot of money, it was close to our house and it was always crowded. Back then I felt we went there because it was family. Not other customers, family. Surrounded by others we were not so alone. We were poor in cash yet rich I remember in love and people because we ate there every night. It was an adventure for me, one of the few actual gifts my mom was able to give me at the time. We had not much at that time and being there, getting to choose my food, and debriefing the day together was something she could give me, to make me happy. We became more than mother and daughter. She was my first best friend.

Each night as we ate I would retell the story of the day. On this one particular night I told the story of a mama bunny and her baby bunnies. As I detailed out the adventures and life of the bunnies, tables close to us stopped talking and listened to my story. They too were looking for warmth, companions, family if only for an hour or so. I told in grave detail how the mama bunny cared for her babies, loved them and shared with them all the secrets of being a bunny. The height of the story, the climax took the mama bunny and her babies on a trip into a near by woods. Woods filled with unknown scary animals, dark and mysterious shadows and the wonders of what could be out there all rolled into one...as I told it. As all eating had stopped, raised forks suspended as if a pause button pushed, I continued on. The mama bunny had lost her baby bunnies and was now frantic. Without missing a beat I said, "And I gotta tell ya, that really fucked the mama bunny." Gasps, scrapes of utensils on plates, and shuffling of chairs, and the hush of resumed talking now filled the air. I finished the story, now my mom the only audience member, laughing the entire time.

To others the word was harsh, vulger and not what a five year old should know of let alone use in public. My mother listened to me tell the rest of the story, laughed through out and thanked me ever so honestly once I was done. There was no punishment, no yelling and explaining that I was bad for using such language. One because she knew of the origin of my knowledge of the word; herself. But mostly, I do to this day whole heartedly believe because she knew, as I did on some level, that it was only a word, just a word. A word that instantly conveyed how the mama bunny felt. I made it powerful. How magical, how brilliant and with only one word a change. One word explained how the mama bunny really felt as her life was then forever changed. One word that caused others to react, repel, and change. One word that made my mom laugh. Powerful.

I have no idea what all this means. I guess today I actually felt, like an arm grabbing me, holding me, that fall is truly here with winter riding on it's coat tails. Change is in my world, I can smell it, taste it, feel it, and it makes me happy. Happy. Another powerful word.

"Well yes this is good news, the fact that I am NOT allergic to rubber. Yet I cannot help but think it would be even better news if I was in fact dating someone other than myself." - undercover masturbation joke hits again!

"All I'm saying is that the word man sounds a lot like the word menace whereas the word woman sounds a lot like the word very pretty princess." - 3rd performance, 1st Wednesday, The Chesapeake in Cape Charles. I killed. HA.